Enthralled
by Queen of Alexandria
Summary: War has ravaged England for years, and Draco works for the Order as a spy. Neither side accepts him, and he is miserable. He has a ticket to New York City, a place where there is no duty and no war, but there is one reason that he cannot leave. DG


A/N: I know I should be working on Traces of a Life right now, and I promise I will write more as soon as I can. I only have about three weeks left of high school, and I'm preparing for exams, so I haven't had much time or energy lately. This is just a D/G one-shot. Please review!

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, locales, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. This fan fiction is written for enjoyment only. I am not making any profit, and no infringement is intended.

Enthralled

He walked through the courtyard in the early hours of morning under a sky the color of ink and filled with many tiny stars. It was a clear, warm night in the middle of June, and the world outside the Order's base was beautiful, but Draco hadn't much time to take notice of these things. If he wanted to escape unnoticed into the night, he had to move quickly and silently.

He was only twenty-two, but he felt much older. Ages of memories, regrets, duties, and pain filled his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was something left of grace and goodness somewhere in the world. There was nothing left in Europe, especially in England. War had ravaged the wizarding side of the United Kingdom since he was about fourteen or fifteen, and eventually it had spread to the continent.

During Draco's last year at school, his father, the infamous Lucius Malfoy, had escaped Azkaban only to be murdered by Adrian Nott, a fellow Death Eater, only a year later. After Lucius's death, his mother Narcissa had lost her mind. Now she resided in St. Mungo's in London, in the mental ward, and she could no longer recognize Draco as her son. She had lost touch with reality, withdrawing completely into her own mind, and on most days, she sat huddled in a corner of her room, trembling and speaking urgently to his dead father. Draco's family had never very close, but he had loved his parents, regardless of all that they had done, and it devastated to see his mother in such a state and to know that his father was gone, never to return, never to have a chance for redemption.

At sixteen, Draco had become a Death Eater, and in the two years that he remained among their ranks, he had done many things he regretted, unspeakable things. Shortly after his father's death and his mother's breakdown, he found himself standing in his room in Malfoy Manor with his wand pointed at his forehead, wondering what was left of life. He was about to end his troubles when a healer from St. Mungo's had appeared in his fireplace, saying that his mother demanded to see him and that it was urgent.

When he arrived, she was having a fit, screaming, crying, and writhing, as the healers tried desperately to calm her. Draco had rushed to her side and held her hand, soothing her as the healers gave her a strong dose of a sedative potion. Before losing consciousness, she had whispered, "You're alive, you're still alright, my son." It was the last time she had recognized him.

That night, pacing the halls of the Manor, Draco had decided to change his life. He wouldn't die like his father had. He wouldn't hurt people anymore. Most importantly, he would still be around to take care of his mother. She had never really wanted him to follow this path he was on, and she had feared for his life every second of every day. He would become a son of whom she could be proud.

The next morning, Draco approached Arthur Weasley, who had become head of the Order of the Phoenix, and offered his services as a spy, a double agent working for the Order. After hours of debate and interrogation and even a dose of Veritaserum, the Order had reluctantly accepted him. Snape's betrayal was still a fresh warning in their minds about what they called "his kind," but they needed him as much as he needed them.

As a double agent, Draco still did many things he wasn't proud of, but he felt that slowly, he was redeeming himself. No one really ever accepted him, though. He was a stranger to both sides, coming and going, doing his duty. He was a solitary, bitter man whom no one really liked or trusted, least of all his rival Harry Potter. The two still harbored a grudge that refused to die. His mother might have still cared about his fate, but she didn't even know he was alive now. She gave him the same blank, fearful stare that she gave the healers when they came to give her meals or potions.

Over the years of the war, many of the order members had been killed, and the ones who were still living had relocated to an old house that Dumbledore had once owned. Voldemort and his Death Eaters were hunting them down, and soon they were all forced to live in that house, as well as use it as a headquarters, in order to survive.

Several months ago, Draco had been given a small ray of hope, in an unexpected form. He had become friends with Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley clan. She had grown up nicely, into a fiery, courageous, beautiful woman, and she was the only member of the Order who didn't shoot him looks of contempt every time he came to the base, as though he were a nasty insect that should be trodden upon for the good of "decent" human beings. Nobody was decent in this war. War was hell, and she knew this, just as he knew it.

She had been training to become a healer before the war erupted in full force, and the first time he saw her in three years, he could hardly recognizer her. That night he had returned from another of Voldemort's raids badly bruised and bleeding profusely from a cut on his arm. He could vividly remember her helping him, cleaning and bandaging the gash and applying salve to the angry purple bruises.

_(Flashback)_

Draco quietly made his way to a small room in the Order base that contained healing potions, bandages, etc., hoping that no one would see him. The last thing he needed now was a smart remark from Potter or one of his friends. Draco took off his cloak, and rolled up his sleeve, as he reached for a bottle of wound cleansing potion.

Draco was concentrating intently, trying not to show pain, but the potion burned like fire when it came into contact with the cut. He winced, and the bottle fell from his hand and smashed against the stone floor. "Shit!" he yelled angrily, before falling silent again, hoping no one had heard the commotion.

Someone had heard him, though. A few seconds later, the door opened and Ginny Weasley entered. "Malfoy?" She frowned in confusion, and then noticed the blood pouring down his arm. "What happened to you?"

"Got into a bit of a scrape tonight," explained brusquely. Draco had never exactly been fond of Weasleys, but he certainly didn't wish anyone dead, except maybe Voldemort. The less she knew, the better.

Ginny took out her wand and cleaned up the spilled potion and shattered glass. "Here, let me," she said, picking up a different bottle and stepping closer to Draco.

Draco didn't know what came over him, but he snapped. It had been a difficult night, and he'd be damned if he wanted to listen to another one of those holier-than-thou Order members criticize the way he lived. "Don't touch me, Weasley. I don't need your help," Draco said, sneering.

"Geez, Malfoy, I was just trying to help, but suit yourself. I almost became a healer, you know," she remarked indifferently.

"I'm sorry, Weasley," Draco said quietly. He didn't really mean it, of course, but he was in a lot of pain, and he had always been terrible with healing and such. He felt exhausted and just wanted to go home to Malfoy Manor and get some rest.

Ginny picked up the bottle of potion she had set down on the counter and poured some onto a clean cloth. She raised the cloth toward Draco's arm, and he winced before she even touched him. "This one doesn't sting, Malfoy," she said.

She was right. In a few minutes, she had finished, and Draco, feeling much better now that his arm wasn't hurting like hell, put on his cloak to leave. It pained him to be nice, but he did owe her that much. "Thank you," he mumbled, staring fixedly at his shoes. Then, he walked out into the night.

_(End of flashback)_

He didn't know why things happened the way they did after that, but by some miracle of chance, he and the youngest Weasley became friends. She was his best friend. Surely this bond between a Malfoy and a Weasley, a good person and the supposed spawn of evil, defied some unwritten law of nature.

Over the next few months, their friendship progressed, and eventually, Draco realized that he had fallen in love for the first time. He loved so many things about her. She was the kindest, most unselfish person he had ever met, and she was intelligent. Draco thought she was beautiful. He loved spending time with her, just talking for hours about anything and everything. They really weren't as different as everyone might think, and she, for one, understood him.

He didn't stand a chance though. She thought of him as a friend; that was the extent of her love for him. She and Potter had been dating for at least two years. He remembered from his school days that she had admired Potter since they were children. He was positively green with envy. Stupid Potter and his stupid fame. He never ceased to get everything that Draco wanted. Well he could have all the fame, friends, and quidditch trophies he wanted. Potter could have them all, and Draco wouldn't give the slightest damn, if he could just have Ginny.

He supposed Scar Head cared for her, but he could never really understand her or appreciate her. Things had only gotten worse since the Ministry had seized Malfoy Manor, and he was forced to live at the Order's base and see them together so often. Frankly, it made him sick.

Potter was gone so often that he hardly noticed that he and Ginny had become friends. It had all started that night after Draco had returned bloody and bruised from his work with the Death Eaters. Soon after, the manor was taken, and that was when he moved in with the Order. Every night, after he returned from his missions, Ginny would come to his room to check on him and help him when he was injured. They would sit outside under a great oak tree on most nights and just talk for hours, careful not to be noticed. If anyone found out about their friendship, it would spark another war. Draco remembered one conversation in particular.

_(Flashback)_

They were sitting outside again beneath the oak tree, in the middle of the night. Draco, exhausted from his latest mission, had leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.

"You said you almost became a healer. Why almost?" he asked.

Ginny sighed. "I had finished advanced potions and my work with Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts, and I was ready to go to the university, when the war got worse, and I had to quit. Going to a university would have been expensive, and living alone would have been dangerous. Mum and Dad wanted me close to home, and the Order needed me, so I came home. There are so many wounded and sick to care for in this war that I feel like a healer, even though I never got my degree."

"You regret never going to university, don't you?" He could tell by her voice, by her expression.

"I do some days. After the war, I'd like to have a real career as a healer, but I don't know that it will be possible. If I take the job, I'll have to travel, and I'll be busy all the time. Mum wants me to settle down, like a proper lady, and Harry probably won't be able to travel with me. Being a career woman isn't all that conducive to having a family, or being married, or anything really."

It pained him to hear that she and Potter would probably end up married in a few years. He imagined if she married him instead, she could travel anywhere. He'd pay to send her to the finest university, and they would travel the world, if she wanted. He didn't have any ties to hold him in this place, since his mother had died. That would never happen, though. He mustn't allow himself to get illusions.

_(End of flashback)_

Soon they couldn't hide their bond any longer. When Ginny caught dragon pox while helping children in a war refugee camp, the truth came out. Luckily, Potter was away and wasn't there to see. Nothing inappropriate had happened, of course, but Draco doubted that the famous Scar Head would appreciate him looking after Ginny while she was ill.

Everyone else in the house had had dragon pox as a child, so everyone was immune. Everyone except Draco, that is. He had lived a sheltered life as a child, and he had never had the malady. Molly Weasley spent most of those few days nursing her daughter back to health, but others only stopped to check on her from time to time, despite the fact that they were immune. Everyone warned Malfoy that he would rue his decision later, when he was violently ill and covered in itchy red spots, but he barged into the sickroom, demanding to see Ginny and stayed with her whenever he wasn't away on missions. He did catch dragon pox, but in his opinion, it didn't matter. He could handle pain, and at least he could hide the spots under his Death Eater robes. It was strange how one could find humor in these situations.

He remembered another time when they had sneaked out of the house to the Quidditch World Championship, unbeknownst to everyone else. Ginny's favorite team, the Holyhead Harpies, was playing and he enjoyed teasing her by pretending to root for the Tutshill Tornadoes. They had to disguise themselves, so they wouldn't be recognized, but Draco somehow still managed to score seats in the top box. He loved the look of exulatation on her face when her team won and they way her hair blew around wildly behind her in the wind. He spent more time watching her than he did watching the game.

He had so many happy memories; these were only a few. But now there would be no more. Not after last night. That was the reason he stole through the night like a common criminal, trying to escape from the base unnoticed. He couldn't take this anymore. He had booked a seat on a train to carry him from here to the coast. Form there he would travel by ship to the United States. His ultimate destination was New York City. He was traveling the Muggle way it would make it much harder to track him once he was gone. He would elude them all: Voldemort, the Death Eaters, the Order. Hell, he could even avoid the Wizarding Revenue Service, if he was careful. He smirked. It was good that he could still make a joke. Sometimes laughter, even cynical laughter, was the only thing that kept a person sane in the middle of a war.

_(Flashback, earlier that night)_

They sat at the dinner table, all the members of the Order, enjoying Molly's cooking. The noise of hushed conversations filled the air. Everyone seemed to be talking, everyone except for Draco. He silently ate his meal, glancing up at Ginny, almost involuntarily, every now and then to see her smiling back at him.

Within minutes, chaos descended upon the dining room. Potter tapped his knife against his glass to get everyone's attention, and they all went silent, fixing their gazes on him. "I have something to ask Ginny," he announced.

Draco groaned inwardly. He could feel his heart constricting inside his chest.

Potter turned toward his girlfriend, beaming. He took a small black velvet box from the pocket of his robes. "Ginny Weasley, will you marry me?"

Ginny looked startled for a moment, but she smiled back at him. With one word, Draco's heart was crushed. "Yes."

Everyone smiled and some applauded. Draco forced himself to retain his composure. Plastering what he hoped was a convincing smile on his face, he caught Ginny's eye. "Congratulations, Ginny," he said simply. He thought his face would break from the effort of faking the smile.

Potter noticed and glared at him. "Stop sneering at my fiancé, Malfoy," he snapped.

Draco couldn't control his temper this time. "Why don't you shut the hell up, Potter," he said angrily. This caught the attention of Ginny's brother Ron, and soon, the three were in a knockdown, drag-out brawl in the middle of the room.

In the fray, the dining table was overturned, food and silverware were scattered, and china was smashed. Many of the Order members rushed from the room, while Arthur Weasley and his four of his sons, Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George, pulled the fighting men apart. Potter's lip was bleeding, Ron's nose was gushing blood, and Draco had a black eye.

_(End of flashback)_

Draco, with a small satchel containing a few of his belongings thrown over his shoulder, had reached the gate, when he heard someone running toward him. He turned to look at the person, hand reaching for his wand. He relaxed when he saw who had been chasing him. It was her.

"Draco, where are you going?" She eyed the satchel. "You're coming back aren't you?"

He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

"Your eye looks awful. Hold still." He noticed the bottle of potion in her hand. It was just like before, only different.

When her hand brushed against his eye, he jerked away. She looked startled. "I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't mean to hurt you." She reached for him again, but he pulled away.

"Why don't you go take care of your precious Potter? He needs you more than I do." He didn't know why he said it, and the moment the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back.

Ginny looked hurt. "Draco, I thought we were friends," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Draco froze. What should he do? How could he make things right again?

He took a chance. He hugged her tightly. "We are friends. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Draco surprised himself; he had never apologized like this to anyone before.

She hugged him back, and asked again, "You're not going to leave, are you?"

Draco let the satchel fall. "It's okay. I'm not leaving," he answered.

He never wanted to let go, but they were interrupted by Potter's voice ringing out through the clear night air. "Ginny, darling, are you out here? I'm sorry about earlier."

"Coming!" she answered. She reached for the potion to quickly apply some to Draco's eye before she left, but he waved her away. He smiled wryly. "Don't worry about me, just go before Potter thinks that I'm abducting you."

"Draco!" Ginny admonished him quietly before turning to leave, but he could see that she wasn't angry. He stood there on the lawn until she had gone back into the house with Potter, her fiancé, before he gathered up his satchel and began to walk back to the house.

She might never love him, but she held him here, in this desolate place. He could walk away and live in New York City or any other city in the world, but he would worry about her. He would stay and continue with these missions, this dangerous spy game, for her sake. War was dangerous, and he couldn't leave her alone. He had to be there because she needed him. He was her friend, and she didn't want him to leave. Besides, he was enthralled; he couldn't walk away.


End file.
